


Roan vs. Bay

by Twera



Category: Red vs. Blue, Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Comedy, Gen, Horses, idiots being idiots, too many characters to list - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-11-23 02:10:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11393196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twera/pseuds/Twera
Summary: People say that dogs tend to look and act like their owners. But has anyone thought about horses? What would a bunch of horses in a box pasture in the middle of nowhere be like? What do they do while their riders are playing video games? Why are you here, reading this? All good questions that will be answered in time as we delve into the minds of a stable full of horses, and the humans that ride them.





	1. Just Standing Around

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of those ideas that seem hilarious when you're half-asleep and trying to think of literally anything else. Well, at least this particular idea hasn't actually been done before. Probably because no one else in the fandom could actually think of something this weird.
> 
> However, if you do (somehow) have an idea for a chapter and want to write it, I'll gladly add you as a co-author. I just ask that you keep to the same style and tone (no suddenly going first person or present tense) and that you write at least decently well (don't mess up their/they're/there, your/you're, lose/loose, etc.)

Two horses stood on one side of a pasture. One, a lanky roan Dutch Warmblood stood as perfectly straight as he could while the other, a very fat bay American Quarter Horse, lounged around, his muzzle buried in the grass he was currently eating.

The roan turned to his companion. "Hey."

"Yeah?" the other replied, glancing up from his grazing.

"You ever wonder why we're here?"

The bay's ears flicked forward as he lowered his head back down to the grass. "Nope."

"Not even a little? You don't want to know why we're out in the hot sun when we could be in our stalls, in the air conditioning?" The roan's tail flicked in irritation. "What about God?"

"What about it?"

"What if there's really a God, watching over everything, with a plan for us and stuff?"

"And? God's a human thing. And, even if there was a God, why would he bother with a couple of horses in the ass-end of Nowhere, Texas?" The bay lowered himself to the grass for (yet another) nap.

"Wow. This is like your sixth nap just this morning. Could you  _be_ any lazier?"

"Well..."

"Don't answer that. I don't want to know." The roan moved a few steps away and pulled up a few mouthfuls of grass. Maybe his companion had the right idea. Sleeping sounded nice, but he didn't want to do it out in the pasture where all the bugs were. He liked to think  _he_ , at least, had some standards. At least, when compared to the other horses he had to share a stable with. He wondered if the humans knew just what he had to go through every single day. Then again, if they did know, they'd probably just laugh (the drunk one howling like a hyena) before using it in one of their human things they recorded on the little black rectangles. Maybe it was better if his human didn't know. If he did, Simmons wasn't sure he'd be able to stand having that drunk hyena howling right next to his ear.


	2. Ever Wonder?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully I was able to capture a sense of Gus and Geoff's personalities. Either way, this fic shouldn't be taken seriously in any way.

Geoff and Gus leaned against the pasture fence, watching their horses. Simmons, Gus' lanky roan, always looked nervous, at least to Geoff. He could hear the dull  _flump_ as Grif dropped to the grass for a nap.

"Jesus," Gus said, breaking the peaceful quiet, "does Grif ever do anything besides eat and sleep?"

Geoff shrugged. "I dunno. Does it matter?"

"Probably not, unless he dies from heart failure or something."

"Yeah, like that'll happen."

They watched as Simmons tossed his head and trotted away from the sleeping Grif.

"Hey." Once again, it was Gus who broke the silence between them.

"Yeah?"

"You ever wonder what they think about?"

"Who? The horses? I don't think they do much thinking. At least, not the way we think. They don't have as much to think about."

"Yeah, true."

The pair had a few more moments of peace, watching Grif sleep, before they had to go do other things.

* * *

Grif waited until the humans left before he opened his eyes. Pretending to fall asleep was easily the best way to get Simmons off his back. He didn't care about the humans being there. Well, he didn't really care about much aside from food and sleep. He ignored the sounds of Alpha's screaming as he bent his head to graze some more in the shade.

 


	3. The Rookie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a new horse in the Freelancer barn and no one knows what to do about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this will make us all feel a bit better before Episode 18 airs. I'm just hoping Wash lives, since there's no good reason to just kill him off (unless you're just that evil).
> 
> Either way, have some adorable horse Wash.

None of the Freelancers were quite sure how to react one morning when Wyoming woke up and discovered that the empty stall between him and Maine had been filled sometime during the night. The older stallion leaned over the wall and looked at the newest Freelancer. His shocked whinny woke all the other horses, except York of course (Rumor had it he could sleep through a hurricane).

Connie, the Halflinger mare, stretched her head up over her stall door. "Wyoming? What's going on?"

The white stallion just shook his head, muttering about "bloody colts not knowing the ropes" or something like that.

North, the most level-headed of the group, craned his neck to get a good look at the nameplate gracing the stall door. He knew enough of the human language to guess what the written squiggles sounded like. "Rookie's name is Washington."

"The rookie is a  _bloody colt_!" Wyoming snapped. "We're competition horses. We've trained for years in our various fields. He's not even big enough for a saddle. How can he be expected to compete at our level?"

Maine, the massive, silent white Shire, slammed one rear hoof against the stable wall. That shut everyone up. He reached his big head down into the stall, resting against the colt's slate gray coat. "Mine," he said softly, and everyone knew what he meant. Maine would take the gray colt with the scruffy blond mane under his wing, so to speak. He'd keep the rookie protected from the craziness their humans gave off in spades.

Of course, the colt chose just that moment to wake up and find Maine's huge head resting against his side. For years afterward, York would swear he'd gone completely deaf in his left ear after the colt's scream practically blew out his ear drum.

Maine moved his head, letting the rookie stagger to his hooves. He looked to be in that awkward stage between colthood and adulthood. None of the adult horses could quite guess what he'd excel at just from his appearance. They each thought he'd fit best in their own disciplines, but none said so out loud.

The rookie took a big gulp of water from the bucket in his stall. "I-uh-I'm Wash-Washington," he said, his voice doing something between a squeak and a crack.

Florida immediately squealed. "You are just so  _CUTE_! I could just eat you up!"

Wash gulped and backed away from the crazy stallion across the aisle. "Please don't. I swear I don't taste good at all. I'm really stringy and tough."

North was half tempted to correct him, but the look on York's face convinced him not to. The Freelancers hadn't had a rookie in a long time, especially one this young. They all could mess around with little Wash for a while and let him get comfortable before the humans started training him. North had the feeling that Washington would fit in perfectly.


	4. Edgar's Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never underestimate a homicidal maniac's pet cow.

Weeks went by, and Wash settled in to life at the stable. York still had him convinced that mixing his grain into his water bucket was the most efficient way to eat. Connie taught him how to kick out with his back hooves and nail the male humans in the crotch every time. She also had told him that Tex was half horse, half shark. Wash, of course, believed it. South, on the other hoof, just bitched at him for every little thing she could. Until North put a stop to it. And through it all, Maine stood close by, like a gigantic white wall at his side. It was comforting, in a sort of terrifying way.

It was one of those almost unbearably hot Texas days that found Wash and Maine grazing out in the pasture. The dry brown grass crunched under their hooves and the few green blades they did find didn't come easily out of the hard packed dry dirt.

Wash nosed his way along the fence, figuring that the weeds growing along the fence line would be better than the dead shit in the rest of the pasture. He absently noticed just how sturdy that section of fence was, compared to the rest of the fences. He lifted his head to get a better look, ears pricked forward. The field on the other side was just as dead and shitty as his side.

Further away, he could see a small shed, painted mottled green and brown with pictures of strangely colored blocky humans on the sides. Why was one of the pictured humans bright green? A wood sign hung above the dark entrance, covered in the humans' messy, scrawling language. Wash couldn't read human language, but he figured that another horse lived in that shed. He could see a dark, four-legged shape that looked like a horse standing further away from the shed.

Wash flicked his tail and neighed a greeting to the dark shape. A few moments later, a low sound came back to his ears. "Mooooo."

"Okay, not a horse," Wash muttered to himself, lowering his head to pull at a dandelion. He closed his eyes and yanked backwards until the plant came free, crumbly dirt dribbling off of its roots.

He opened his eyes and saw four cloven hooves standing right by the fence. The owner of the hooves let out another moo. Slowly, Wash lifted his head until he was looking a large brown-and-white cow in the eyes. The cow almost seemed to glare at him. He gulped. "Did-Did you want the dandelion?" The cow just lowered its head and butted the sturdy fence. Wash dropped the dandelion and galloped back to Maine's side, cowering behind the big Shire.

Maine paused his grazing long enough to ruffle Wash's scruffy mane with his breath. "Evil cow."

"Yeah, I kinda guessed that," Wash replied, trying to get his knees to stop shaking.

From that point on, Wash learned his lesson and never grazed by the fence separating the Freelancer pasture from Edgar's Hole. If there was such a thing as the humans' devil, Wash figured it looked a  _lot_ like a certain brown-and-white cow.


End file.
